One of the most eclectic tattoo artists in Tulsa. Eric has award winning photo realism and abstract creativity sure to get you the design you are looking for.
A Date That Will Live On In Infamy
Date – October 11, 1993.
Location – Kerby Knob, Kentucky
So, there I was in a small hamlet, part of the vast Daniel Boone National Forest. I had set up camp with an antique 44 magnum on my side. A can of Beanie Weenies over the fire and enough LSD to send a rampaging rhinoceros on a kaleidoscopic bad trip. The agency that assigned this mission had strongly insisted I stay out of sight, away from population and suggested travel through our nation’s backwoods as a way to reach my destination and target. The job, although relatively unsophisticated, still required a modicum of delicacy and finesse. Tasked with the assassination of Jerry Garcia, in concert, on stage and in front of his adoring yet dopey fans, for what the agency claimed was, “maximum psychological welfare”. Whatever their convictions, it was word salad to me. I’m a working man, and was simply earning a paycheck.
Sasquatch, Sasquatch Everywhere
After half a dozen stout 7and 7s, I had settled for the night in my circa Vietnam era Army surplus sleeping bag and tent. What followed in the ensuing hours is still shadowy and vague to my recollection. My only clear memory was the godawful smells, torturous grunts and guttural regurgitations of those cruel creatures. As the night became dawn, my headache and bewilderment subsided, I came to grasp the magnitude of this precarious predicament. I had been abducted by what appeared to be a troop of mentally retarded lesbian Sasquatch in heat.
I had heard the rumors of “bigfoot country” in that part of Kentucky. The whispers of inbred hillbilly/sasquatch pairings, spawning monstrous mentally deficient offspring. But I had erroneously assumed these were the folly and folklore of the locals, fueled by the too many mushrooms and too much moonshine. To my dismay, shock, and somber surprise, I had ascertained these burdensome beasts had chosen me. Not for easy greasy accessible fare, as I had most certainly feared, but as a sort of stud service to seed their vacuous vulvas thus propagating their degenerate litter upon all of this great flat earth.
A Tulsa Tattoo Legend
So there I was, dear reader, with this hairy, horny harem, in the midst of their pheromone fueled, furrbidden fuck fest . After much clawing and clamor, the matriarch of this clam clan had secured her post, first in chow line- my man meat as main meal. Outnumbered, outsized- but not outwitted, I was determined to skedaddle from this ogress orgy posthaste. That is, I stabbed her eye with a stick and ran screaming, buck naked, all the way to Oklahoma. Where I, along with my loving wife, opened Tulsa’s first legal tattoo establishment.